Walls Come Tumbling Down
by btch sprinkles
Summary: Sam/Castiel- For six years, Sam Winchester has lived with Amnesia. Waking up in an alley, broken and bleeding, he's stuck without any idea of who he is with a kid on his hands. While picking up his daughter from school, Sam spots a familiar face. Trench coat and black impala, and Sam feels like he's going insane. Soon enough, the walls in his head come tumbling down.
1. Chapter 1

A/N- This one has a more cohesive plot, and I promise I'll update soon!

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The day had started out fairly typical for Sam. Woke up, cooked breakfast, panic attack in the parking lot after dropping Kate off at the gate—which only lasted about forty five seconds, so that was a good one—grabbed coffee and ended his afternoon at his daily therapy session.

It was kind of a wonder that he was functional at all, really. He'd been found beat to shit near a dumpster six years prior, no memory of anything. He had six ID's on him but the only name that actually rang true in any government database was Sam Winchester. Couple of priors when he was 18, nothing big, possession of drug paraphernalia and loitering. Not a clue why he had so many ID's but the cops who found him were willing to let that one slide.

No family, though, no friends, no one seemed to recognize him and he couldn't draw up a single memory of who he was or how he'd gotten there in the first place. Last known address had been some hole-in-the-ground shack out in Iowa that had been burned to ash a few months before he was found.

Six months passed before the kid was dropped in his lap. She'd been in foster care when they found her in an abandoned hotel room. Sixteen months old, dehydrated and hungry, but alive. Considering Sam had no drugs in his system, no real record to speak of, and seemed to hold a coherent conversation with the doctors and medical staff, eventually they let him keep her.

Not that he had any idea what to do with a kid. He remembered staring at her for hours, trying to figure out how the hell he'd gotten her or who she looked like, but nothing. Blank canvas, his therapist told him. "Enjoy it," she told him, "most people don't get a do-over like this."

He considered that some of the most shit advice he'd probably ever heard, except maybe whatever advice he'd taken that left him beaten in an alley with total amnesia, but he let his therapist talk. She suggested that his dreams might start revealing repressed memories, but six years later all he ever dreamed of were freaky men and women with fucked up eyes who did a lot of stabbing.

"And last night?" the therapist said. After six years, Sam still had to look at her name plaque to remember it, she was that dull. Voice without inflection, and every suggestion she ever gave him sounded like it came straight out of a text book.

"Big black guy with red eyes," Sam said with a shrug. He was fiddling with a button on his purple shirt that had come loose, hanging on by one long thread. He was twisting it, seeing how much pressure he could put on the string before it snapped. "Some guy with me, the guy I can never remember his face. Shoved a big knife into the red-eyed guy and then he died."

"Same as always? Flashing lights in the mouth, electrical sounds?"

Sam gave a nod, not looking at her. The button snapped off and he felt a wave of triumph. Twenty twists before the string had snapped. He didn't even know where the shirt had come from. It had been in the suitcase with the stuff retrieved from the hotel Kate had been rescued from. Leather jacket that was hanging in the closet, a pair of motorcycle boots, keys to a car that they never found. A baby book for Kate, the handwriting obviously a woman's but they never found a single piece of evidence indicating who her mother was. Nothing in the DNA database, no marriage license, and no hospital records.

A small alarm beeped and the session was over. Sam dropped a check off at the receptionist's desk and nodded when she called out the time of his session for the following day. Sam wasn't making any progress but the government was paying him to see this woman every day, so what the hell. In his spare time he got paid to write a blog online. They'd send him random topics, he'd research, one of the only things that felt in any way familiar to him, and then he'd get paid. A lot, oddly, but he wasn't about to complain.

So yeah, the day started out pretty ordinary for Sam Winchester. The drive to the school was short, his over-sized truck making him feel a little like he was lording over the rest of the cars and part of him liked that feeling. He enjoyed the roar of the engine as he tapped the gas and squealed into one of the too-small parking spots. Someone would be irritated, but he didn't care.

He nodded to a few of the parents he recognized, though he never talked to them. Sam was there for every event, every school play and shitty orchestra performance. Every parent-teacher conference and girl scout meeting. Father of the year, the office manager once told him when he was signing Kate out early after she came down with a nasty bout of the flu. Sam smiled and took his little girl's hand in his and they went home.

She was a quiet kid, too, and didn't look a damn thing like him. As she grew, she started to look more familiar though, and Sam wondered if it had something to do with her mother. Something in his gut said no. Dark-blonde, almost brown hair, a little scraggly no matter what she did to it. Fiercely green eyes, slim nose, small mouth. She was skinny and short, rough voice for a kid, and a sick, sarcastic sense of humor for a nearly-eight year old.

It was a windy day, dusty since it hadn't rained in what felt like forever. It was getting hot, too, which was fine by Sam. He'd never been a big fan of the cold for whatever reason he couldn't remember. A few of the moms were there, those screwed up housewives with five kids and a social life that consisted of over-exercising, drinking too much wine with their girlfriends and reading books that would make even the biggest porn fan blush.

They all liked him too. He had that look about him, the kind you'd see in one of those movies with his big arms, fantastically tall and ridiculously lush golden-blonde hair. Yeah Sam looked like that guy. He was pretty sure he was gay, though, despite the whole kid thing. He hadn't been laid since he'd woken up all messed up, but he'd had some pretty fantastic dreams about sex, tight body beneath him, hotter than any human being should rightfully be, dark room, but the thing writhing under him was definitely a dude.

Still, he just wasn't the sex kind of guy. He hadn't felt an attraction to another human being. Well, not until today, actually, because while it started out a normal day, it didn't end like one.

See, Sam knew nearly every parent who walked onto the lot. It was sort of his thing. Along with the fact that he had no memory, Sam was also obsessive compulsive and fucking paranoid to a point where sometimes it was a struggle to leave the house. He knew those weird-eyed things were just dreams but sometimes he swore that they were actually real and walking around in human meat-suits just like every other guy.

And every time someone looked at him funny he wanted to start punching them until they were on the ground unconscious because he swore it was the only way to stay safe. But he hadn't ever done that. No, he was in control, as much as he felt like he was inches away from losing it.

Yeah, he knew every face around his kid. He might not remember how he'd made her but there was something about her that he loved the hell out of and he would be damned if anyone came near her without his consent.

So when the stranger walked up, Sam freaked. He didn't show it outwardly, but the dude was looking at him like he knew him and Sam knew anyone from his past was probably bad news. One thing he hadn't shared with his therapist was his muscle memory. One time he was doodling while watching TV and he ended up drawing some of the most fucked up symbols he'd ever seen. Strange runes and pentagrams and he had this urge to hang them up everywhere. Which he didn't, but the drawings were kept in a locked box in his office.

The guy standing there looked pretty out of place, too. Long black trench coat, ruffled black hair and fiercely blue eyes that were just boring a hole right though Sam. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the gaze and couldn't help the way his hands balled into fists. This guy was stirring something in him, something… old. It was like he knew the guy, like a word on the tip of his tongue but he just couldn't make it come out and it was so damn frustrating.

The shrill end of the day bell broke their contact, and within minutes hoards of tiny humans were pouring out of the front gate. Sam gave a loud oomph as the small creature he loved so dearly came barreling into his middle. He gave a laugh and wrapped his arms around her as she grinned up at him, two front teeth missing, slew of freckles under each eye.

"Hi dad," she said. She had a fistful of papers that she shoved at him. "This is for art class, which I want to go, okay? And there's chess club but my teacher thinks I should probably wait until next year. Oh and um, there's another form you can just sign, you don't have to read it. She said it's just you know, for her records."

At that, the girl stared down at her shoes, telling Sam instantly that she'd done something wrong. He shuffled through the papers until he came across the principal's note saying that Kate had gotten into an argument with a boy during lunch who had been teasing her, so she tripped him and when he was on the ground, she punched him hard enough to give him a black eye. The note told Sam if someone hadn't overheard what the boy had said, Kate would have been suspended. Fortunately for her, it was three weeks of lunch detention.

"Are you serious?" Sam asked her, his brows furrowed.

"Look, he was being a dick, okay," she said, her small, rough voice going even rougher.

"What have I told you about your language?" Sam huffed.

"But he was," she pressed. "Such a dick. He said the reason why I'm so small and stupid is because I didn't have a mom. He said that my mom probably took one look at me and jumped off of a building and killed herself!"

Sam's face went instantly red and he had to take several deep breaths to calm himself. He wished desperately that he could remember if kids were such little assholes when he was that age. What if he'd been like that? Shaking his head, he sighed and put his hand on her shoulder. "Just ignore him, okay?"

"I'm not going to let some asswipe get away with saying that to me," she snarked.

"One more and it's soap on the tongue," Sam threatened, though they both knew it was an empty threat. Sam sucked at punishing her and there was no way he could ever bring himself to actually put soap in her mouth. As much as she deserved it sometimes. No seven year old should talk like that, and honestly he had no idea where she got it.

He grabbed her backpack, like always, and slung it over his shoulder, and as they made their way across the dusty lot, he caught a glimpse of the trench-coat man again. He was near a large, black car, some 1970's piece of crap that the macho losers drove thinking they were cool and tough. Chevy Impala, it read on the back. Sam felt dizzy all of a sudden, but he wiped his hand across his brow and took a deep breath.

The trench-coat guy was helping a young boy, probably kindergarten, into the back of the car. He met Sam's eyes again and this time he nodded a greeting.

"You know that kid?" Sam asked Kate as she hopped alongside him.

Kate looked over and her eyebrows rose. "Oh yeah! Yeah that's Jimmy. He's new. He's in Mrs. Beal's class and he's my reading buddy."

"Reading buddy?" Sam asked. He pushed the unlock button on his electronic key and they got into the car.

"Oh yeah, it's like every Wednesday and Friday we have to go into Mrs. Beal's class and help the kinders with their reading. He just started this Monday I guess. He's super quiet though, kind of weird, but I like him."

"You would," Sam said jokingly, but he was still unnerved by the man. Something about him just wasn't right, and he started to feel afraid. They drove out onto the road and he could see that black Impala behind him and he swallowed. Looking down at Kate who was happily fidgeting with the puffy pompom on her backpack zipper, he said, "Hey, how about some frozen yogurt?"

So weeks passed and the trench-coat guy, Mr. Novak, or so said Kate, was there, and he kept staring at Sam but never saying anything. It was about two weeks before Sam had that sudden realization that he actually wanted the guy to talk to him, and three weeks before Sam had the dream about him.

It started off the same. Big knife-fight with some black-eyed baddies, Sam with his faceless companion by his side. Then suddenly they were in some seedy motel room, moth-eaten sheets, and despite it being a dream, Sam could smell the musty bedspread that had likely been fucked on and gone unwashed for months.

And the other guy was there, too. The thin one with the hot, pressing mouth, only this time he wore the face of that Novak guy. Oh and he was kissing Sam, hard, shoving him against the wall, his thin-fingered hand jammed down the front of Sam's jeans and Sam was cursing and grunting, shifting his hips for even more friction, and as he came, and he was coming hard, he looked up and saw these big, massive, grey wings spreading out behind Novak.

Sam woke with a start, sweat dripping down his face and his crotch covered in goo that was quickly becoming cold and uncomfortable. He listened to make sure he hadn't woken Kate since there was a damn good chance he'd made some noise in his sleep, but the house was deathly quiet. Something Sam had come to appreciate and, despite being terrified of nearly everything, the silence was more of a comfort.

He padded to his bathroom and cleaned himself up sleepily. His bleary eyes read 3 AM on the small nightstand clock, and he groaned, grabbing a pair of barely-worn boxers that didn't smell too bad from the pile near the bathroom door and he flopped back onto the sheets.

There was a cold, wet spot which he avoided, shoving the blanket over it, and he lay there, watching the ceiling fan spin in the hollow, fading moonlight and he knew he wasn't going to sleep again. He couldn't get Novak's face out of his mind, and even that name just sounded… off. Familiar, but off.

There was something itching away at his brain, a memory dying to get out , but he had no idea how to release it. It was a massive case of mental blue-balls and he was starting to get really pissed off. For the first time in six years, Sam skipped that day's therapy session. He didn't even call what's-her-name because what was the point. She left four voicemails but Sam figured he'd call her back later and let her know he wasn't dead. Yet.

He arrived at the school early that day. It was Friday, thank god, so he'd have Kate home all week and they could do anything, anything to distract Sam from thinking about Novak. But the truth was, he wasn't sure he wasn't going to be able to keep his mouth shut this time. It was just that face, those eyes, that fucking car that was always roaring along behind him. Something about him, and Sam needed to know.

Novak was earlier than usual, too. They were the only two on the playground and it was sort of awkward with a couple of head-bobs by way of greeting. Sam whistled a tune, some crappy 70's rocker song about a tiger eye or something—couldn't remember where he'd heard it but he couldn't get the beat out of his head. Novak just sort of stood there, blankly, looking like he was doing a statue impression and finally Sam just sort of snapped.

"Do I know you?" he asked, crossing the short distance between them.

Novak stared at Sam, surprised by the look on his face, and he was clearly at war with himself on whether or not to answer. "Um, I don't think so," he finally said in this really weird, deep, scratchy voice that hit something in Sam's brain like a ton of bricks.

"Yes, I do," Sam said. Something was clicking, some distant memory, and it was goddamn scary and there was a sort of pain forming in his gut, like he'd just watched his mother die. Not that he remembered who she was. "Who are you?"

"Sam, please," and it was a begging tone, but all Sam heard was that Novak knew his name and said it with more familiarity than Sam had experienced in six years.

"What's happening?" he asked. His head was spinning hard now.

Suddenly Novak was at his side, hand in his, and there was something being pressed into it with sharp edges. "Call this number and I'll meet you."

Sam's knees hit the dirt and he was holding his temples. When he looked around, Novak was gone and a few other parents were starting to filter into the yard. Shaking himself off, Sam waved away the concerned looks and huddled under a tree until Kate came out.

She seemed to read his subdued look so she kept quiet, but Sam could not stop looking at her. There was just something… something he couldn't put his finger on. Something about the way she held her face, and her smile… like he'd seen it before, on someone else. God, it was killing him.

The thing he was clutching in his hand was a business card with a number scribbled on it, and he wanted to call right then, but he didn't want to freak Kate out. "Go over to Mrs. Corn's house will you?" Sam said to her. "I told her you'd help her sort out her yarn today."

Kate's face fell. "Oh my god, I thought you weren't pissed about the punching thing. Yarn sorting? Why don't you just shove a dagger into my heart, dad!"

Sam nearly vomited as a violent image of a dagger sticking out of a chest popped into his head. He heard the scream, too, a man, not him, not Novak. Someone else, and he shooed his daughter out of the kitchen before she could see that he was crying.

Hands shaking worse than they had since he could remember, Sam punched the numbers into his cellphone. It didn't ring, however, he was met with a strange static and suddenly, when he turned to check out the window if Kate had made it next door, Novak was there. In his kitchen. Just standing there liked he'd been there the entire time.

The phone clattered to the floor and Sam jumped back, hitting the faucet with his elbow hard. "Shit. How the hell?"

"Sam, I need you to relax," Novak said.

Sam's head was shaking back and forth involuntarily. "What's going on? What the hell is going on? Who are you?"

"You've been placed under protection, Sam, and right now that protection is failing."

"W-what protection? What are you talking about?" In a panic, Sam fumbled into the drawer on his right, pulling out a gun. Steadying one hand with the other, he pointed it at Novak. "You'd better start talking. Right now."

"Where's Kate?" Novak asked. He'd looked at the gun, but didn't seem to care that the weapon was pointed at his face and the man holding it was somewhat unstable.

"Next door," Sam said, shaking a little more. "Start talking dude, or I'm going to fire this."

"This isn't going to make much sense right now," Novak said, "but I'm afraid we still haven't located his soul and your memory block is starting to break down. The moment that happens, they're going to find you and they're going to find Kate."

Something struck him, hard. A name. Cas. Castiel. He said it aloud and the man standing there reacted. "Castiel. What the hell?!"

"What do you remember," Castiel said, taking another step toward Sam.

His grip on the gun was becoming weaker as strange images, so much like the dreams, seemed to be smacking against the inside of his eyelids. "Fuck," he said. The weapon clattered to the floor and he went down to his knees. Another name smacked him. "Dean," he muttered, pressing hard on his temples.

"Sam please, I need you to look at me. I need to help fix this."

There was something soothing in Castiel's voice, so soothing that Sam actually obeyed. So many images, with nothing to connect them and Sam felt like he was slipping deep into insanity. "Help," he muttered.

"We need to get Kate home," Cas said.

"She's safe. Mrs. Corn has her… her… sorting yarn," Sam muttered.

Suddenly Sam was in a chair and a cold beer was in his hands. He gulped it down and chanced a look up at Cas who was still watching him with heavy trepidation.

"Your wall is breaking down."

Wall. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Though oddly, somehow, he could have sworn he'd heard something like that before. Someone had said something like that to him once. And there was a hospital and… the devil? Sam's head gave a violent throb. "Am I dying?"

"Far from it. Sam Winchester is trying to break free," Cas said.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, peering through squinted eyes.

Cas turned to him and said, "I am an angel of the lord."

That's when Sam fainted.

Throbbing, lights piercing violently. God Sam hurt. Every muscle in his body ached. Worse than anything he and Dean…

Dean.

Dean!

Sam sat up with a gasp, staring around the dim room. He was on a bed. A familiar bed. His bed. There was a frilly, pink dress discarded in the corner near the closet. Kate. Sam's head gave another violent spin and without warning, he turned and retched into the small garbage can nearby.

"The vomiting is a natural response," came the gruff voice of the archangel he felt like he hadn't seen in years. Not just an archangel, but the only thing he loved besides his brother.

Fuck. Dean.

Sam wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned his aching eyes to Cas. He was there, standing in the corner of the room, looking all wrong in a black trench coat, but hell it was him. "What happened?"

"Give it time," Cas said with a nod.

Sam's eyes closed and it all came back. They'd been running, something had been unleashed. Some demons, Crowley and a few others, escaped after hell had been sealed. Dean had run off, saying he had something to do. Showed up at a hotel carrying a black bag with the angel tablet and a fucking baby.

"It's mine, I guess," was all Dean said before the knife plunged into his chest and there was Crowley cackling like a maniac. Sam killed the shit out of that demon but it was too late and by the time Cas finally answered Sam's fucking screaming prayers Dean's soul was gone.

The pain was fresh, like it had just happened yesterday. Sam remembered the begging, too. "Fuck you, Cas! I need to find him, you let me find him!"

"You have to protect her, Dean. You don't understand. She's the key to all of this and if we find her, Dean is lost to us for good."

And the lips that had brought Sam endless waves of pleasure suddenly betrayed him. The hand that brought him to orgasms that no human should ever reach pressed to his head and it was wiped clean. And Sam woke in an alley, beat to hell from a demon fight he couldn't remember, and then he had a kid. But not his kid. No. Dean's kid. And the kid that apparently would screw them all, or save them, depending.

"We need to get her," Sam said. "They're going to be here any minute now that the wall's broken."

"Agreed," Cas said and he started down the stairs ahead of Sam.

"I hate you so fucking much right now, Castiel," Sam muttered as he shoved past the angel, to the front door.

"I'm aware of your feelings toward me right now, Sam, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Sam turned, his anger momentarily glueing him to the spot, and he grabbed Cas by the front of that stupid coat. "It's not worth shit, Cas. Dean's been out there for six damn years, god knows what's left of him and you kept me fucking castrated here with his kid and no way to help you."

"We have a lead," Cas replied, unfazed by Sam's rough handling.

Sam shoved the angel back and straightened his shit. "It had better be a damn good one."

They crossed the lawn to Mrs. Corn's front porch and Sam rang the bell. The little old lady with the puffy white poodle hair answered and smiled as she let the boys in. She didn't seem perplexed by Castiel's presence, which should have been Sam's first warning sign. But he was a little off. Six years out of practice would do that to a hunter.

They walked into the parlor and Castiel spoke. "Step away from the child."

Black eyes flared in the old woman's face. Sam was frozen, but Castiel reacted quickly, taking her down in a halo of glowing light. When Sam was able to see again, however, the room was empty and Kate was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was shaking almost violently as he followed Cas back to his house. His head was spinning and goddamn it he needed a drink or he was going to completely lose it. Everything, everything was just rushing back at him like an unforgiving tsunami, wrecking down the walls Cas had put up in his head.

Six years he went, six, thinking that foul-mouthed little creature was his daughter. The apple of his eye. Chip off the ole' block. Instead no, he'd been raising his dead brother's daughter, daughter from where, he had no idea, and to top it off he'd been given all of forty-five seconds to mourn that brother before it was holed away.

"Cas, you'd better start talking right now. I know what those knives in Dean's bag are, and one of them is an Angel knife. Right now I'm channeling my brother pretty damn hard and I will not waste a moment in ganking your ass if you don't tell me what the hell is going on."

"As you were informed," Cas finally said as they made it to Sam's kitchen, "hell was closed with the Demon Tablet, effectively killing Kevin Tran, but sealing off the doorways to the underworld forever."

Sam shuddered at the memory, of holding that poor kid in his arms as his insides spilled all over Sam's jeans and fuck, if the kid didn't just smile up at him as he bled out because the job was done and he was finally free. "Yeah, I was there, if you recall."

"Yes, I do," Cas deadpanned. "Unfortunately some of the demons managed to find a way to ward themselves from the gates shutting for good. Now, we know that souls can travel between realms, Heaven and Hell, and some of them are making deals with demons."

"Are, or were?" Sam interjected.

"Are," Cas replied. He reached into the fridge and handed Sam a beer. Sam took it, feeling himself getting back into the groove of being with Cas, the angel anticipating his needs and wants, and god it felt good for just that second. "Many of the deals were harmless, but a few of them discovered a bloodline ending on the mother's side with the demon you know as Meg Masters."

At that point Sam went white because the last time he'd seen cute little Meg she was sucking on his brother's neck, and not in a vampy way, but in, as Cas would call, a Pizza Guy sort of way. "Okay," Sam said, urging Castiel to go on.

"The second bloodline ends with the first born of the Winchester line," Cas said in the most unforgiving tone possible, and Sam choked on his beer. "Are you alright?"

"Not really," Sam spluttered. "You're obviously about to tell me that my—Dean's—" and fuck that hurt to say it like that, "daughter, is also Meg's spawn?"

"I'm afraid yes, that is correct."

"So how did Dean get ahold of her? Is Meg in on this?"

"I am not sure," Cas said. He started to pace a little and get that far-off look when he couldn't work something out. "Crowley has escaped hell and I'm convinced he's behind this. I do not know how to find him, however."

"I take it demon-summoning spells don't work like they used to," Sam said with a heavy sigh. "So Crowley's now got Dean and my—his—daughter."

It was in that moment Castiel heard the pain in Sam's voice because he turned and fixed those intense baby blues on the sole existing Winchester. "She's your daughter, Sam. You've raised her, and losing your memory for six years won't change that."

"When we find Dean," Sam started, and when Cas gave him that patronizing look he slapped his hand on the table and said, "when we find him, he gets the chance to raise his daughter."

Cas looked down. "I'm afraid neither of you may have the chance. She's too dangerous to live on earth."

"What the hell are you saying?" Sam nearly-shouted, feeling ready to just take Cas out if that's what he had to do.

"I'm saying just that, Sam, and I am sorry because I know you care for the child. She exists – her and one other—to reopen the gates of hell and unleash a flood of very angry demons onto the world and mankind."

Sam shook his head. "She's a good kid. I mean, she's…" he gave a laugh and shook his head, "I didn't know it all these years, but damn it Cas, she's just like her dad. That foul little mouth of hers, and she can throw a punch like I never could at her age. She doesn't take shit from anyone and she's just absolutely unforgiving. But she's good. She's a good girl and you can bet your ass any kid raised by me or my brother will turn out good."

"It's not a matter of good or evil, Sam, it's a matter of her existence and the power it wields."

"And what would you do with her, exactly?"

"She will be placed in heaven. She has an innocent, human soul, and once she and the others are in heaven and Crowley and Meg are appropriately dealt with, we will complete the tasks on the angel tablet and seal off heaven for good."

And that hit Sam harder than anything yet, because it would mean that his daughter, yeah his daughter because fuck Dean for up and dying and leaving him to carry this weight, would have to die and he would never see her again. He couldn't live with that. No, absolutely not, because he was going to see her graduate, and go to college, and make all the stupid ass mistakes he never got to make because of the life he had to live. And she was going to fall in love and get her heart broken and get married and one day he was going to be a grandpa and neither heaven nor hell was going to stand in the way of that.

"There has to be another way. So find it."

Cas returned at three in the morning. Sam wasn't sleeping, of course, because at this point Lucifer might as well have been reawakened his brain with how tortured he was feeling. He was drinking himself into a stupor when the angel appeared in his bedroom and it startled him so badly that he did the only thing that seemed logical. He laughed until he fell off the bed.

Cas helped him up gingerly, but Sam shoved the angel away, feeling loopy and angry and hating himself a little because he still loved Cas, as much as he wanted to kill him. "How did you do it?" Sam slurred as Cas stood there staring at him. "I mean I get it, you're an angel so you just don't feel the way people do. But… but how?"

"How did I what, Sam?"

"Six years," Sam slurred, letting his head fall onto his pillow. He oopmhed and turned on his stomach, his cheek squished against the mattress as he looked at Cas's form, now distorted by one eye being nearly squashed closed. "Six years you just what? Forgot I existed."

"I watched you," Cas said. "Heaven or no, I will always watch you, Sam. I did my best to protect you."

"It would have killed me, you know," Sam said. His eyes began to slip closed. "To watch you for six goddamn years living your life, not able to touch you, kiss you, feel you near me. If you hadn't erased my memory, it probably would have killed me."

"I had no other choice. You believe it doesn't hurt me, but you're wrong," Cas said quietly. "It was my own version of hell."

"Come tuck me in," Sam said, because frankly he was losing consciousness, whether he wanted to or not.

He only slept a few hours, and when he woke, Cas was sitting on the bed next to him, his fingers in Sam's tousled hair. Sam, for just the barest moment, let himself forget again. Forget about Kate, about Dean, about hell and heaven, and he just felt the hand of the one he loved touching him so tenderly.

"We may have a way to retrieve Dean," Cas said.

Sam sat up and stared at his once-lover, his brows knitted and his heart starting to race. "What?"

"The longer the gates of hell have been sealed, the weaker the demons are growing. Crowley might have once been the King of Hell, but he is just a demon and his powers are starting to wane," Castiel said. He was standing up now, pacing the way he liked to do, hands behind his back and looking so inhuman.

"Okay, so how does that help us find Dean's soul?"

"Per our agreement, Dean's body was buried, providing the ability to be resurrected should we ever find a way to retrieve his soul. Now, I can't be sure what his soul has suffered at the hands of Crowley, but I believe without the resources of Heaven, the damage won't be nearly as severe as when you were locked in the cage with Lucifer."

A violent flash of that torture hit Sam like a ton of bricks and he momentarily lost his breath as he tried to recover. He might have been healed, by Cas of all things, but it wasn't gone. No, it was never gone, and the thought of Dean spending six years, six aching impossible years…

Sam shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "So what are we waiting for?"

Cas hesitated, telling Sam in that moment there was more, something not good, not good at all and obviously however they were going to bring Dean back would come with a price. "It seems that we've also uncovered more about the deal your mother made to save your father's life."

And really, that was the last thing that Sam wanted to hear, because damn it he'd been through enough at the hands of his parents' mistakes. He rubbed his face and brushed past Cas to the small sink near his bathroom to wash the sleep out of his eyes. "Hit me with it."

Cas hesitated, another small tell that whatever it was, was likely to send Sam over the edge into absolute fury. "Your… unique abilities weren't specifically due to demon blood you'd ingested as an infant," he said slowly. He came up behind Sam, stretching out a hand as if to touch him, then seemed to think better of it and dropped his arm to his side. "I'm afraid that John Winchester wasn't your biological father."

And oddly, it all sort of made sense, and Sam waited for the rage to hit him, but it didn't. It couldn't because ingesting a few drops of demon blood just didn't make any sense to Sam why his life was just a pile of shit. But being the kid of a demon—well yeah. Obviously things wouldn't turn out so well. Being half demon would obviously trump his desires to get out of the hunting life and be a lawyer or whatever pathetic, human job he'd wanted when he was twenty-two.

It was the look on Cas's face when he figured out who his father was, and it was clear Cas was expecting him to freak by the surprised 'O' his mouth made when Sam just started laughing. Through gasping tears, Sam shook his head and said, "Crowley, right? Crowley? Even before the son of a bitch became King of Hell he was fucking with my family. Yeah well, that makes a lot of sense, doesn't it?"

Cas cleared his throat, clearly unsure how to deal with the human emotional outburst he didn't quite understand. "You and Dean are still brothers, and we can use your blood to call his soul."

"But if we do that, likely Crowley will show up with demons ready to smite me, or whatever, and it will end bloody and stupid," Sam said with a wave of his hand. "Story of my life."

He grabbed a clean shirt from the floor and walked down the stairs. Cas appeared in front of him as he started his coffee pot, his face drawn and somber. "I'm afraid you don't understand the gravity of the situation."

Sam turned suddenly, grabbing Cas by the collar of his coat and he pulled him in, kissing him hard. The Angel didn't respond, but Sam didn't expect him to, and he shoved Cas backwards slightly. "That color looks stupid on you."

Cas looked down at the faded black trench and shrugged. "Try something new."

"Look, we obviously don't have a choice, and if the demon powers are starting to lose their grip, we probably have a shot at getting Dean back and stopping Crowley from being able to bathe in our blood, or whatever that maniac wants."

Cas gave a slow nod. "We can perform the ritual where Dean's body is buried."

"And that is?"

"I placed his body in the ground in Maine, the exit portal from purgatory. I feel I was right to assume that as the gates of hell are sealed, Crowley would have hidden Dean away the only place I could not reach him. Once Dean has been resurrected, we should be able to use his blood and call back Kate to have her safely sent to Heaven."

Sam flinched, because no matter how many times Cas explained the necessity of it, there was just no way in hell he was going to lock his daughter away with those psychotic Angels for all of eternity. He loved her far too much for that.

"Where's the other kid?" Sam finally asked.

Cas frowned. "Other kid?"

"I'm going to assume that Jimmy kid—and Jimmy Novak, very clever—was the other Meg spawn you were worried about. He was younger than Kate, so I have to assume he's not Dean's kid."

"He's mine," Cas said, and that little revelation nearly knocked the wind out of Sam.

"Yours? You have a kid?"

Cas gave a slow nod. "Yes. It was a momentary lapse in judgment and I've taken care of it."

"Where is he?" Sam demanded, choosing to focus on the kid's whereabouts so he could ignore the fact that Cas fucked Meg and god did that hurt. He had no claim over Cas, no right to feel betrayed but that didn't stop the ache from ripping through him.

"He's with Anna in Heaven. He's safe and will remain so the moment heaven is sealed."

A thought struck Sam after that, one so painful and intense that his knees buckled a little and he turned to Cas. "What happens then? When Heaven is sealed?"

"I do not understand your question."

"What happens to you?"

But Sam didn't need an answer when he saw the heartbreak in Castiel's blue eyes. Because there was only one real answer, and that was Cas would be gone too, just like the rest of them. And the humans would all be safe from the sadistic angels and demons, and Sam would be back on earth, more alone than he had ever been in his life.

Clearing his throat, he grabbed his keys from the counter and threw them up in the air, catching him with his other hand. "Main's a long drive, we'd better get going now."


End file.
